


The Last Snowfall

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [24]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27342490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: Sydney knows that they are running out of time. Hardin's intrusion into his solitary meditation turns the sands of the hourglass back, just for a little while.
Relationships: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Series: The Cultists' Cycle [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3668
Kudos: 3





	The Last Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again, a story I was already thinking about writing becomes impossible not to write when I recall that Vienna Teng has a song that fits it _uncannily_ well.

From beneath the hood of his cloak, Sydney stared out into the snow in the forest beyond the Bardorba manor, drifting through the air as it fell upon trees and bushes and earlier snow. A peaceful meditation, or so he had been hoping, and he had had some success, but the white shroud that so gracefully covered the land could not entirely cover his dark thoughts.

He had scheduled this visit to the duke after midwinter - it would not do for him to be away from the brethren during their own rites, nor to be an offensive presence among the duke's household during the more widely celebrated winter holidays. Though true spring was yet some ways off, the air was beginning to warm in the subtle shifting from season to season, and the days grew longer. Though today there were large flakes of white falling slowly and peacefully, there would not be so much more snowfall in the Graylands before it turned to cold rain, and winter would be done.

Among his other business at the manor, Sydney had discovered that the duke's health was failing quickly, and young Joshua had grown to be more boy than babe. The time was approaching. Sydney would not live to see another winter. 

And that was not so terrible a revelation for him, only disconcerting; much of his life had been spent pondering death, courting it, playing dangerous games with it. It was possible he was only faintly troubled by its approach because he had always escaped it - or it had escaped him - and so he had never quite believed that it would come for him. He was still not sure he entirely comprehended it. But what was to come first... That was more tangible, more plausible. Far more troubling.

In part, that was why he had left for the solitude of the forest after excusing himself from breakfast. The duke's manor in itself no longer unsettled him so much as it had only a few years past - but everywhere he looked, every unspoken whisper the Dark brought to his attention, there were now reminders that the time was coming, coming quickly, and that the burden he had taken upon himself would not be borne by him alone.

Unsurprisingly, one of the regrets he had sought to escape had followed him; more than the muffled footfalls in the snow, he could hear the curiosity, wavering concern, a hint of lingering disdain approaching from the direction of the manor's front gates. Sydney had expected as much, and he said nothing, nor did he turn to look as the footsteps slowed a short distance behind him and then stopped. Neither did Hardin say a word, and Sydney wondered what he might do if he received no acknowledgement whatsoever of his presence. Would he turn away?

But then, it was Hardin. Sydney had tried, numerous times and with varying degrees of resolve, and it was clear that nothing short of knowing all that Sydney himself knew would cause Hardin to turn away - and likely not even that. Sydney sighed faintly. "I suppose the guard questioned you," he remarked.

"I questioned them as well," came the gruff reply. "Did they want me to stay so badly? They opened the gate."

Sydney smiled a bit, sparingly, in spite of himself, for that explained the disdain. "I avoided that nonsense. Entering or exiting by the gates is but a formality I may choose to extend to them."

"Would that I had that power." Encouraged by Sydney's willingness to speak, Hardin's footsteps came a few paces closer. "I apologize if I am intruding... When you were not in the library, nor our suite, nor the courtyard you favor, I grew curious."

"No matter," Sydney told him. "There is nothing to be concerned about." Not just yet. "Neither are you intruding on anything of import. I merely sought some time to myself."

"...Yes. In that case, if you'd rather I leave you..."

Hardin was a part of what Sydney had been trying to escape, yes - but in truth, it was precisely what he did not want. "You may stay if you wish," he replied. "Though I don't imagine why you would, when you might be inside by the fire."

"Ah, the cold doesn't bother me." Having not been actively sent away, of course Hardin's preference was to be at Sydney's side, and Sydney looked away from the falling snow for the first time as Hardin sat down beside him. Though he'd brought his cloak, he was smiling easily even as he settled on the frozen ground. "You forget, I grew up in the mountains to the north - such weather as this is hardly worth mentioning."

"Hmm, perhaps..." Sydney hadn't considered that. Hardin could, of course, be making excuses, but that one at least made sense. 

They lapsed into silence for a moment, until Hardin spoke up. "Did it not snow in your homeland?"

...A truly ironic question, but Hardin had no way of knowing. "It did," was Sydney's only reply. "Very much like this."

"And yet to choose to spend time out in the snow seems strange?"

Sydney frowned thoughtfully. "Should it not?"

"As a boy, I enjoyed it." Hardin's gaze drifted, with Sydney's, out into the woods, branches and evergreen boughs heavy with a blanket of white. Again he smiled, a bit wistful. "There were games to be played with the other boys... and with Philip, when he grew old enough... before his illness grew more severe."

"Games...?" Sydney had no such experience.

Hardin looked back to him, eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief. "You never built castles...? Waged battles in the snow...?"

Slowly, Sydney shook his head. "I did not. My appreciation for the snow lay only in its quiet serenity as seen from a window - perhaps the fresh, clean air that came with it. There were few enough other children about, fewer still that might have been playmates - I can't recall."

Hardin almost looked stunned. Perhaps it was no wonder - Sydney rarely spoke of his childhood, and for many reasons. "...As a child, I was frail," he admitted. "Much like your brother, I suppose, seldom was I allowed to play outside, and certainly not in the cold." The stunned expression on Hardin's face was turning to dismay, and Sydney gave him a slight smile. "Don't look at me so - that weak child is no more. Surely you do not think me to be fragile now?"

Hardin shook his head, somber. "Certainly not. Yet I... I didn't know."

"There is much I have never spoken of - and again, do not look at me in such a way. I do not speak of it now so that you might pity me." He might have said too much... but then, Hardin did not have overly long to put the pieces together, he supposed, and the bleak thoughts began to return as he gazed out into the forest once more. Anything he could say or do at this time mattered very little. 

Beside him, Hardin was not doing a very good job of not pitying him. "So, no snowball fights, then? Not even snowmen..."

That gave Sydney pause. Now that he mentioned it... "You seem to have jogged something in my memory," said Sydney thoughtfully. "There must have been other children about, playing in the snow, for I recall waking one morning to see snow piled upon snow outside... with branches and stones for limbs and a face." He smiled now at the memory. "I was very young, yet already acquainted with the Dark... I would not have set foot outside if I had been permitted, for at the time I did not know the correct word, but I believed someone had brought forth a sort of... snow golem. I sought to warn my father."

Hardin made a somewhat choked sound that was impossible to misinterpret. "Yes, Hardin, I too presently find it amusing. Besides, you laugh not at me, but a child who no longer exists - and as you have made a habit of reminding me, neither is the man who replaced him immune from occasional bouts of foolishness."

"Yes," Hardin agreed, and thankfully the tale seemed to have driven away the larger part of his pity. "We all have our moments, even grown."

But then, even with his thoughts guarded as was his habit, Sydney heard through the Dark the echoes of an odd emotional jolt, as if Hardin suddenly wanted to say or do something very badly, yet was restraining himself. Perhaps arguing with himself. Sydney could easily have determined what it was that suddenly occupied Hardin's thoughts so strongly, but even knowing that he was preoccupied was more than a man should know of another's business. He simply waited for Hardin to make up his mind. ...Though it was taking a rather long time. Likely more questions about his childhood which Sydney had thus far refused to discuss, spurred on by the minor details Sydney had just disclosed. Where he had lived, how he was acquainted with the Dark so young, had his father been one of Müllenkamp's followers?

Hardin shifted awkwardly at his side, and Sydney decided he might turn and remind Hardin that if there was something he wished so badly to say, he may as well speak, though he may not receive an answer. It was fortunate that he waited just a moment longer, for in that moment, Hardin made up his mind. 

Sydney nearly gasped in surprise as something struck the side of his hood - not particularly hard, but enough to crumble upon impact - and he found bits of snow tumbling down over his shoulder. With bewilderment, he turned to look at Hardin, and found the man simply sitting there, eyes pointedly averted, a not-quite-stifled smile upon his lips. His hands were folded before him, but wet, and a bit of white clung to his cuff.

Sydney had no idea what that was about, nor what to do about it, so he simply stared. ...Snowball fights, Hardin had said? Was _that_ what he intended?

Eventually, Hardin's eyes flickered back to Sydney in the silence, and the stifled smile fell away as he took in Sydney's perfectly straight face. "...I apologize..." he murmured. "I just thought that... If you never made such merriment in your childhood..."

There had been a time - not even back so far as his childhood, only a few years past - when the weight of his destiny had not yet so fully settled upon him as to be stifling. A time when Hardin's irreverence towards him had been met and returned with his own playful indignities. When they teased, enjoying the mutual camaraderie, a respite from everything else in lives that were otherwise so deathly serious. In the intervening time, their circumstances grew only more dire, with little time, reason, or inclination for frivolity.

Hardin must have missed it as much as Sydney was just realizing that he did. And now his face was fallen, as if he had done something wrong - another action made out of the best of intentions, but which instead left Sydney irritated.

But actually, Sydney found it endearing. Sad, to think he had reacted in such a way oft enough that Hardin would assume he was angry, but endearing. And just as in those years past - only John Hardin would have the nerve to do something so absurd as to throw a handful of snow at the high priest of Müllenkamp. "...What had you expected I might do, Hardin?"

"'Expected'," Hardin muttered sheepishly, ducking his head. "I had _hoped_ you would reciprocate. As I said, even grown..."

Sydney glanced down at the snow on the ground before him, the sharp steel fingers of his hands standing out stark against its softness. "...I suspect my hands are not suited to shaping snow," he said, looking back up to Hardin with a wry smile. "But I do appreciate the gesture... as much as one may appreciate being unexpectedly struck in the head."

Hardin's eyes were still self-conscious when they looked up to him again, and Sydney's smile grew softer. "I _do_ appreciate it," he repeated. That Hardin might try to engage him in something simple, inconsequential, such fleeting moments of innocent joy... and he reached over to coax Hardin to lean his head closer. 

Hardin's kiss was the closest he had come to innocent joy of late, and seldom was it entirely innocent. Neither was it to be this time, but for a different reason; though the kiss was gentle, Sydney shifted as Hardin did while the kiss grew a bit deeper, until Hardin's arms were around his shoulders, Sydney's around Hardin's waist. Presumably Hardin had not yet noticed that one of Sydney's hands was no longer on his back - and the one that was had turned over, a deft flick of his fingers slipping barely inside the waist of Hardin's trousers and tugging just for a moment...

Hardin let out something approaching a roar, pulling away abruptly as he found a handful of cold snow suddenly deposited down his backside. Now Sydney could let himself laugh as he drew back likewise, watching Hardin clutch at his rear in surprise. "You bastard!" Hardin exclaimed, starting to laugh himself.

Sydney arched an eyebrow at him, smirking. "Did you not say you'd hoped for reciprocation?"

"I also said I was not sure I was expecting it," Hardin chuckled, trying to catch his breath. "And it seems I was not. You devious... underhanded..." He shook his head. "Do you recall when I first came to you? You were my teacher in the Dark... and other matters... and you said I was a quick study."

"I do," Sydney replied, "and you were."

"Well..." Hardin settled on his knees again, grimacing a bit at the feel of the icy water melting against his skin, then looked back up to Sydney. "I now must say the same of you. You are a _very_ quick study."

He was still grinning. It was a sight Sydney had not seen for some time, a smile from Hardin that was not forced or tempered by weariness, and he sat there drinking it in - for he knew not when, or if, he might see it again. As they sat there, Hardin's grin softened, as did Sydney's smirk; perhaps they both felt the same, recognizing that this moment was something rare. 

Reluctant as either was to end it, there was no better way for it to end than to lean in for another kiss. Sydney found himself smiling, almost laughing into it, as he began to put an arm around Hardin's waist - only to have Hardin take hold of his wrists and keep his hands safely between them. "So you have had enough of the snow now?" Sydney asked when they parted. 

"If no more of it makes its way into my clothes," Hardin told him, taking his hands more earnestly in his own, "I am content to remain here with you until you have tired of it."

_And if it does,_ his heart added silently, _I will be grateful that you have shaken off your recent melancholy enough to tease._

"That may be some time yet," Sydney admitted, and drew his hands back only so long as it took him to get to his feet before offering one again. "Would you walk with me, Hardin?"

"Of course," Hardin replied, accepting it. "Is there something we must discuss?"

There were many, many things they would have to discuss, but it did not have to be this day. Sydney shook his head lightly, sensing rather than feeling the way Hardin's hand closed around his own when he had risen. "Nothing at all - but the forest by winter is peaceful, is it not?"

Hardin nodded. "It is indeed."

He simply followed in silence, letting Sydney lead him by the hand deeper into the quiet stillness of the snow-covered woods. This time he made no protest when Sydney's arm wound instead around his waist, and Hardin rested his arm around Sydney's shoulders in return. 

Sydney allowed himself the indulgence of leaning his head against the warmth of Hardin's shoulder for the moment. They did not have long... but they had _now_.


End file.
